


Marked

by slkdfowiejsdxk (BottomBitchBarnes)



Series: Stucky AUs [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-03-31 01:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3959629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BottomBitchBarnes/pseuds/slkdfowiejsdxk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody, everybody, has a soulmate. Sometime before the age of seven, if not within minutes of being born, the name of a person’s soul mate (or, in some cases, mates) appeared somewhere on their skin. Except for Steven Grant Rogers. Steve Rogers' soulmark appeared on the inside of his left wrist at 12:42 pm on March 12th, 1999- When Steve was about to turn nineteen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first time writing an age gap this wide. I wanted to have a bit of guilt on Steve's part, but I think that in this 'verse, if you're soulmates, it's okay. (There's a bit of a gray area though because soulmates aren't usually this far apart, so the legaity is kind of in question.) So there's not a ton of guilt involved. This is also one of those ones in which the world is in black and white until you meet your soulmate- I heard the idea 1/2 way through writing and couldn't resist! Enjoy!

Everybody, _everybody_ , has a soulmate. Sometime before the age of seven, if not within minutes of being born, the name of a person’s soul mate (or, in some cases, mates) appeared somewhere on their skin. When a person meets their soulmate, the world undergoes a 'transformation' that is apparently hard to describe. The two to seven year age gap is usual, and most people fall in that range- except for Steven Grant Rogers. Steve Rogers' soulmark appeared on the inside of his left wrist at 12:42 pm on March 12th, 1999- When Steve was about to turn nineteen.

*  
*   *

Fast forward sixteen years, two tours of Afghanistan, and teacher's college, and Steve was going down the attendance list for his eleventh grade Ceramics and Sculpture class, last period of the first day of school.  
"So, I've got-" he startled slightly, his heart fluttering, before he continued- "James Barnes absent, is that it? Anyone's name that I didn't call? Barton, I know for a fact that I called you, put your hand down. We good?" He clapped his hands before continuing to sign for Barton, who was 70% deaf. "Alright. I'm Mr. Rogers, and if anyone tries to welcome me to the neighbourhood, they will be reconstituting the slip at the end of every month. Technically I'm a Captain, but the school board says you guys can't call me that, so instead you can call me Steve. Now, everybody come up here- school-board issue overviews, _hooray,_ right? Now, for the marking scheme--"

At that moment, the door opened, and a tallish boy with coiffed, dark hair strode in.  
"Hiya, Teach. Sorry I'm late." Steve froze and blinked. The boy was- He couldn't describe it. He had heard people who had found their soul mates try to describe color, but this... This was something else. Recovering a couple of seconds later, he cleared his throat.  
"You must be James. I'm Mr. Rogers, but most folks call me Steve. Come get one of these, okay?" Now, as James looked up, it was his turn to freeze. He looked around, wide eyed, and took a deep breath, looking like he was about to say something. Steve cut him off. "We'll talk after class. Come get this sheet, we're going over the marking scheme."

Steve turned back to the rest of the class. "Basically, all you need off of that sheet is that you have one week to turn in late assignments before they become a zero, and that your final grade will be made up of 70% coursework, and 30% is from your final exam. Questions?" Clint Barton raised his hand. "No? Good. James, if you could find a seat with some elbow room- ah, there's one, front left, okay?" James took his seat, still seemingly dumbfounded. "Okay. Now, who can tell me the #1 most important rule when working with clay?"

*  
*   *

The rest of the period ticked by torturously slowly, at least for Bucky. Whenever he had looked at his Mark in the past, or felt phantom fingers or lips brush against it, he had always pictured his soulmate to be the same age, or only slightly older than him. He couldn't exactly say he was disappointed, though. Steve was _Hot_. Yeah. _Capital H italicised Hot_. And he kept shooting Bucky these looks, startling him into realizing that he was rubbing at his Mark again. _Well, excuse me,_ Bucky thought. _Can't help if I've got tics._ The guy kept stressing the cleaning aspect of pottery- _yeah, we get it, clay dust plus lungs equals bad. Move on._ Bucky almost fell asleep a couple of times, but was woken each time by a pinch to his Mark. His jaw set, and he spent the rest of the class paying as close attention as he could.

When the bell finally rang, Bucky stayed behind, sitting at the desk he'd been pointed to, as the rest of the class filed out to go home or catch up with each other. Being the new kid, he wasn't exactly top of the food chain anyway, so staying behind was no skin off his back.  
"So, um. What happens now?" Bucky asked quietly into the silence of the room.  
"I have no idea. I should probably call your parents, and then maybe resign. Fuck." Bucky grimaced.  
"I don't think you wanna bother calling my folks. It's not exactly a happy home," he murmured. "Not since mom married Alex, anyway. And I'm sorry about your job. Fuck, this is so weird."

"Yeah, you're tellin' me. I knew it'd be soon, if you went to this school, but it's still weird. Do you go by James? I feel like I should ask."  
"Nah, I go by Bucky. Buck, sometimes. My sister used to call me Bucket." Steve chuckled and sat down in the chair at his desk.  
"God, you're so _young_. I didn't even _have_ a Mark until I was almost nineteen, and now I'm meeting you, and you aren't even that old. You're what, _six_ teen? _Seven_ teen?"  
"Sixteen," Bucky confirmed. Steve scrubbed his face.  
"So I guess I'll call your parents, then-"  
"No!" Bucky interrupted, "Please don't. I, uh. I don't think that's a good idea. And I'm kind of... Between homes right now, anyway." Steve raised an eyebrow.  
"You got a place to stay? And 'm not talkin' about the youth shelter, those places scare the crap outta me. " Bucky grimaced.  
"Kind of?" He replied, wincing. Steve sighed.  
"There's no possible way you're sleeping under the bridge if there's anything I can do. Here-" he pulled out a little notepad and scribbled his address and phone number onto it.

"You feel like sleepin' in a bed, you swing by. And I'm not just talkin' about cold nights, here, either, okay? I've got a spare bedroom, you're welcome to it. And there's probably enough food in my fridge to feed the football team, so I'd be glad for the help eating it all." Bucky stared at the offered slip of paper.  
"Thanks," he murmured, taking it. "I appreciate that. I- um. So, are we- what's gonna-"  
"Nothing's gonna happen unless you want it to, Bucky. I promise. Is there anything else I can do? I think I probably still have to resign, so I mean... Not gonna have a steady income other than government cheques for a while, but I've got a backup plan." Bucky smiled.

"I think I'm alright 'till the cold weather sets in. The school's got a food bank, so I can get stuff to eat, and if I get here early enough I can use the locker room showers. But... Thank you. For the offer, I mean. I'll keep this," he promised, holding up Steve's address slightly. Steve bit his lip, looking like he wanted to say something. Steve chewed his lip.  
"If you want- just, if you want- you could stay with me. I mean, we legally have to register as soulmates anyway, and my place isn't far from the registration office in Prospect Heights. Make it a helluva lot easier on you," he offered. Bucky's eyebrows shot up.  
"Really?" He asked. "You- you wouldn't mind?" Steve shook his head.  
"Nah. Rent's cheap, and like I said, I got a ton of food. Only downside is, there's no elevator."

Bucky nodded, contemplating. A massive part of his told him that there was no way that this guy could be trusted. But on the other hand... Steve was his soul mate. Soul mates didn't hurt each other. Hell, even Alex-- _No. Stop. Don't think about him._ Bucky took a deep breath.  
"Yeah. Alright. Just let me grab my stuff from my locker."

*  
*   *

Steve had told Bucky to meet him at the gym doors once he had his stuff. Steve just had to grab his jacket and shoulder bag from the staff room before they met up. He ran headlong into Mr. Wilson, the American History teacher, while he was going around a corner, knocking the box of files from the other teacher’s hands.  
“Sam! God, sorry about that,” Steve apologized/greeted, helping him pick up the loose papers.  
“It’s all good. What’s got you running? Leave the kiln on or something?”  
“Nah. you’re supposed to leave kilns on, they’re not pleasant to be around. I, um. I met James,” he explained, his voice softening.    
“So it was that new kid. Thought the name sounded familiar. You going down to register?” Sam asked, standing back up with his box. Steve nodded.  
“Yeah. And then I’m going to resign before Fury can fire my ass.” Sam frowned and nodded.  
“Good plan. Let me know if you need anything, yeah?” Steve nodded.  
“Will do. Thank you, Sam.”  
“No problem.”

Steve dashed down the stairs and opened the door to find Bucky leaning against an old pickup truck, smoking a cigarette.  
“Hey,” he greeted. Bucky turned and nodded in greeting, carefully butting out his half-finished smoke to save for later. “You got everything you’re gonna need for the night?” Steve asked, eyeing the half-empty military-issue duffle that Bucky had slung over his shoulder. Bucky nodded.  
“All my worldly possessions. I’ve been doing the whole 'zen' thing. Feels great.” his lips quirked up at that last, and he looked up at Steve. “So, you got a car or what?” Steve shrugged.  
“Something like that,” he replied before taking his keys out of his pocket and twirling them around his finger. “You ever ridden a motorcycle before?”

*  
*   *  


_See, this is nice,_ Bucky thought. Steve’s bike wasn’t overbearing- Just sturdy enough. It was a Harley, but it wasn’t branded too heavily like they often are. Bucky currently had his arms wrapped tight around Steve's waist, his forehead pressed between the older man's shoulder blades. By God, this man was ripped. Bucky seriously couldn't think of a time when he'd met somebody this jacked that wasn't on steroids, and Steve really wasn't giving off that vibe. Steve had been nervous about letting Bucky ride without a helmet, and had therefore forfeited his own to the teen. Bucky would’ve been fine either way, honest- Steve was nothing if not a careful driver.   
“You alright back there?” Steve asked at a red light. Bucky nodded, but clung a little tighter to Steve, indulging the idea that maybe this could be okay. “Alright. Take the helmet off if you gotta puke, okay? Don’t want you to choke on it.” Bucky chuckled at that, but the helmet muffled it so that Steve couldn’t hear. Bucky already knew he was going to like this guy. Plus, seeing things in color was a real eye-opener. (Ha ha.) He could tell, vaguely, who out of the people they passed had met their soulmate. He may not know what the colors were called, but he could tell when they clashed.

*  
*   *

 **  
** Arriving at the registration office, they dismounted, Bucky bringing his duffle with him and Steve leaving his bag and the helmet stashed in a storage box on the back of the bike.  
“You ready, Buck?” Steve asked, taking Bucky’s hand like they hadn’t met two hours ago. Bucky squeezed back.  
“Yeah. ‘M good.” Steve smiled and held the door open for him.  
“After you, my dear.”

*  
*   *

Registration was Hell. They needed picture ID (and wasn’t Bucky glad he’d bothered to get his driver’s license), fingerprints, DNA testing, records of their marks, and eye exams. What was nice about the eye exams was that they got to learn the names of all of the colors, so Bucky didn’t need to think to himself _“That one that’s all over trees and grass and stuff”_ , etc. They were given pamphlets explaining what sort of changes to expect, physically and emotionally, as they got to know each other better, and a business card for a psychiatrist that specialized in soul mate-related issues. By the time they were leaving, Bucky was starving.  
"Thai sound alright to you? I know a place between here and my place that does a killer green curry," Steve suggested.  _That's it. I'm the luckiest guy alive,_ Bucky thought.  
“I haven’t had Thai in _years_. Sounds good to me.”   
  
They ended up getting take out- They got there right at the dinner rush, and apparently, Steve’s order wouldn’t have fit on the table anyway. Steve ducked back inside once they had decided from the menu that was placed just outside the door. They carefully arranged the bags on the handlebars before re-mounting and driving about two blocks to Steve's apartment.

*  
*   *

"Oh my God, this is good," Bucky moaned around a mouthful of the softshell crab he was half-finished. "Thai's my favourite, but Alex is allergic to shellfish, so after Ma met him we never got it. You've got good taste, Steve." Steve smiled and picked up the container of orange duck.  
"It's cheap, too, so that doesn't hurt. Eat as much as you want, seriously. You could use some extra meat on your bones." Bucky smiled and bit his lip.

"To be honest, I'm stuffed. Funny thing about not eating, it makes you not hungry." Steve nodded.  
"Well, whatever you can manage. I'm not gonna make you eat, I was just trying to make sure good manners didn't starve you. Alright. If you're done, let's pack this up, and then I can help you get settled. I think you should be fine, there's a desk you can have in there, and an electric blanket for when it gets cold. You need anything, you let me know, okay?” he asked.  
“Yeah, of course,” Bucky confirmed, nodding, “But to be honest I would have been fine on the floor. I’m not exactly picky anymore about this kind of thing.”

“Yeah, and I get that, trust me, but I want to make sure you’re comfortable. You seem like a good kid, Barnes,” Steve remarked, nudging Bucky’s shoulder with his own. Bucky chuckled and nudged back as he set the crab back down.  
"Not so bad yourself, Rogers. Alright. Let's have the grand tour, shall we?" He asked, standing to help Steve get everything back in the fridge.

*  
*   *

There was no _possible_ way that Bucky was going to get back to sleep after that nightmare. He huffed a breath and swung his legs over the side of the bed- _God, it's like a_ marshmallow _or something-_ and got up to grab a glass of water and maybe have a shower. When he got to the junction between the living room and the kitchen, however, he froze.  
"You too, huh?" Steve asked from where he was sitting, reading a book by the light of the floor lamp. Bucky yawned and leaned against the wall, nodding.  
"Nightmares?" He asked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pyjama pants. He didn't want to pry, but the look on Steve's face was pretty familiar.

"Yeah," Steve replied, dog-earing his book and removing his reading glasses. "Some nights it's not so bad, but then others... Well, let's just say the war doesn't always _stay_ in Afghanistan." Bucky's eyebrows shot up.  
"You served?" He asked. Steve nodded.  
"107th unit. Captain Steve Rogers. Two tours." Bucky nodded, biting his lip.  
"My dad was in the 107th," he murmured, smiling a bit sadly. "After Ma met Alex, well. Dad couldn't compete. Joined the army so he could die honourably." Steve's brow furrowed.

"What did you say his name was?" He asked.  
"Sergeant George Barnes. Was probably before your time--"  
"He did." Steve whispered. "He did die honourably." Bucky looked at him in confusion.  
"You knew him?" He asked, his voice getting a bit thin. Steve nodded, standing to hold Bucky's hands gently.  
"He saved my life at least three times over. I asked him a couple times why he was always so preoccupied with making sure _I_ didn't die, but he never told me. I'm guessing it was because of _you_." Bucky rubbed the tears from his eyes and leaned forward into Steve's arms, crying softly into his chest.

"Hey, shh," Steve tried to soothe him. "Deep breaths. I've got you, Buck. You know what?" He asked quietly. Bucky shook his head slightly, sniffing. "He was always talkin' about you and Becca, always said how proud he was of you. Always sayin' how smart _you_ were, especially. I always thought it was a little strange that he'd talk to me about his kids, and nobody else, but... I mean, I get it now. Should'a put two and two together, even if he never actually told me your name. He called you 'junior' when he talked about you. I can see why, you look just like him." Bucky yawned again and looped his arms loosely around Steve's hips. He was a bit calmer now, but there was still something on his mind.  
"Was that you who wrote me the letter when he died?" He asked quietly, still hiccoughing. Steve squeezed him a little bit tighter, tucking Bucky's head under his chin.

"Yeah, Bucky. He saved my life. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him." Bucky clung tighter, his hands fisting in the fabric of Steve's shirt.  
"How did it happen?" He asked, almost afraid for the answer. Steve kissed the top of his head, not really thinking about it.  
"Buck... 'M not sure now's the best time. You've got school tomorrow, and I've still got the six week period before they can actually fire me. We should get some rest." Bucky nodded.  
"Stevie?"  
"Mm?"  
"Can- Can I stay with you? Please?" Bucky asked tentatively. Steve nodded, rubbing the teenager's back, gentle and a little timid.  
"Of course, darlin'. I invited you, didn't I?"  
"No, I mean... _With_ you. In your bed." Steve nodded slowly in understanding.  
"Well, sweetheart... If... If you want, then of course. Just... If I have another nightmare, you can't wake me up, alright? I keep a gun under my pillow, and if I hurt you, I..." Bucky nodded, squeezing tighter for a second before dropping his arms.  
"Of course. I get it, Stevie." Steve squeezed Bucky's shoulders gently and kissed his forehead.  
"Come on. Bedtime."

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I realized that I didn't really make this clear: Not all soulmates match. For instance, Bucky's mother was his father's soulmate, but he wasn't hers: She and Pierce matched. I dunno if that made it any clearer or just more confusing, but there you go. Also I know the formatting on this one sucks, but I uploaded from my phone. I'll fix it later.

"Don't you have a class to teach?" Mr. Fury asked, not even looking up from his papers, as Steve stood at attention in front of his desk.

"First period is my prep, sir." Fury exhaled heavily and looked up to see that Steve was holding a manilla envelope.

"What the Hell is that?" He asked, raising his eyebrow.

"I'm afraid I have to resign, Mr. Fury, sir," Steve announced.

"On the second day of school? What the Hell could have happened between yesterday's staff meeting and now that could make you feel the need to resign? And stop with this 'sir' bullshit. I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times, this isn't the army." Steve swallowed nervously.

"I found my soulmate," he told his boss, biting off the 'sir' at the end but somehow leaving it audible.

 

Fury looked at him like he was crazy.

"So take a week off. You're head of the art department, we need you on staff."

"He's a student," Steve clarified, extending the envelope. Fury didn't take it.

"Is he over the age of consent?"

"Well. I mean, yeah, but I thought-"

"You thought nothing. This is your prep period, go prep. Take a week off, both of you, starting tomorrow, and I don't want to hear about this again."

 

*

 

Bucky readjusted in his seat. He really still wasn't sure yet as to whether last period would be his most or least favorite class. He hadn't actually signed up for it; he had signed up for social sciences 301, but there weren't enough kids interested to run a class, so he had landed in pottery. His classes were basically all arts-based, apart from English and Math, but hey, Bucky wouldn't complain about that. No, what he would complain about was the view. The exquisite view he got whenever Steve bent down to get something out of his bag. Which was a lot today, for some reason.

 

What was worse than the boner he was hiding was that this was one of those classes that kids could move their seats in, and Steve's (least?) favorite student, Clint Barton, had taken it upon himself to sit right next to Bucky today. Not that Clint was a bad kid: in fact, under different circumstances Bucky could see himself becoming good friends with him. It's just that Clint kept asking over and over about why Steve had kept Bucky after class yesterday. Bucky was starting to run out of excuses, tugging at his right sleeve to hide the jagged writing on his wrist, when Steve wandered over.

 

"Barton, c'mon, leave him alone. He botherin' you, Bucky?" Bucky bit his lip. If he said yes, then Steve would deal with it and Clint would leave him alone. On the other hand, Clint seemed to be pretty popular at this school, and the last thing Bucky needed was to be labeled a snitch.

"It's fine. Thank you." He offered Steve a smile, which didn't fool him for a second, but the teacher shrugged and made to move on.

" _ **Barton, that's a warning. Take a hint** ,_" he signed as he left.

"Sorry. It's really none of my business," Clint admitted. "It's just that Steve never keeps _anyone_ after class, and you didn't even say anything to piss him off. It must be something that the office told him about, right? I won't ask again."

 

Bucky sighed.

"Well, now I feel like I _should_ tell you." He glanced over at Clint as if studying him could prove whether he was worthy of the knowledge he was about to receive. Seeing nothing, but deciding to risk it anyway, Bucky pushed the sleeve on his right arm up slightly to reveal 'Steven Grant Rogers' in the same handwriting that was on the board. Clint's eyes widened.

"Is it mutual?" He asked quietly. Bucky nodded.

"Please don't tell anyone. Steve's not gonna lose his job or nothin', but it would still be easier if as few people as possible knew."

"Wouldn't dream of it. My folks have a ten year gap, they thought they had the biggest ever. Guess you two proved them wrong. What's the gap?"

"Nineteen years."

"Holy shit. That's... Kinda hot, actually."

"Yeah, until you realize he's gonna die twenty years before me." Clint nodded in ascension.

"Fair enough. Still though, you've got a long time before that happens. And don't worry about me, my lips are sealed." Bucky smiled and turned back to the clay he was wedging.

 

*

 

When the bell rang, Steve noticed Clint nod goodbye at Bucky as he gathered his stuff. Bucky smiled in return and continued cleaning up his station.

"So, this is a lot harder than I thought it would be," Bucky admitted when it was just the two of them. Steve chuckled.

"What is it that you're having trouble with, Buck?" He asked, coming up behind his student to place his hands on his hips. Bucky sighed, put-upon.

"Well, Sir, I just can't get the clay to stay right in the middle of the wheel. It always slips off."

"Mmm, well, we can't have that. Maybe you need extra lessons?" _What are you doing. He's your student. You said you wouldn't pressure hi-----_ Bucky whimpered in his throat.

"I think that might be the only course of action, Sir," he agreed, "I just don't seem to be strong enough to hold it there." _Bull fucking shit. You've seen Bucky, he's fucking ripped_. Steve placed a gentle kiss to the corner of his student's jaw.

"Mm. Well, I don't know... See, I've got a mate at home, beautiful little thing he is, an' I think he'd be awful jealous if I was spendin' all this extra time at work... You'd have to _promise_ not to tell." Bucky shivered under his touch as his hands trailed up and down his sides.

"Scout's honor, Sir," he breathed. Steve smiled against his skin.

 

"There we go, dollface, we'll get you the help you need," he murmured as he pulled away. "Let's get you home," he offered, returning to normal ridiculously fast considering how turned on he was. "If you actually are having trouble, I'll help you out next week. But for now, Fury said that if we weren't out of here by four, he really would fire me." Bucky turned to look at him, confused.

"Wait, what?"

"Oh, did I not tell you? We have a week off." Steve noted the smirk slowly spreading over his student's features. "Oh no. What are you planning?"

"Planning? What would I be planning? I'm not planning _anything_." Steve narrowed his eyes.

"Okay. Come on, let's go home."

 

*

 

Later that evening, Bucky bit his lip 'till it was red in a way he _knew for a fact_ was alluring.

"Stevie?" He called before trapping his lip back between his teeth. Steve came around the corner, drying his hands from the dishwater.

"Yeah, Buck, what is--" Bucky could practically hear the air being punched out of Steve's lungs as he took in the sight before him. Bucky had found the loosest sweatpants he could in Steve's dresser, with no shirt. Not to mention that he hadn't towelled off after the shower he had just stepped out of, so there were still rivulets of water dripping from his skin as he trembled, partly from cold, partly from knowing what it would do to Steve. He watched as Steve drank in the sight of him.

 

"I'm gonna need to do some laundry," Bucky admitted in his best impression of innocence, "'M already outta shirts." Steve flat-out whined at how gorgeous his soulmate looked. "Stevie?" Steve shook his head and looked up to Bucky's face.

"Yeah, Kitten? Sorry, I... I zoned out." ' _Zoned out.' I'll show you 'zoned out'_.

"I asked if we could go to the laundromat. My shirts are all dirty." It took Steve a second, but he nodded. "It could wait 'till tomorrow," Bucky added. "Just wanted to let you know."

"Yeah... Tomorrow..." Steve agreed, and stepped forward slightly, his hands twitching by his sides.

 

"Sir?" Bucky asked.

"Yeah, Buck?" Steve responded, still distracted by a drop of water sliding down Bucky's throat.

“If you want something, you’re allowed to ask,” the brunette murmured, his voice rumbling just slightly, "Wouldn't want good manners to deny you what you need..." Steve's hands twitched up a bit more, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Bucky let his eyes wander down, noting the sizeable bulge in Steve's jeans. Slowly, carefully, he took a step forward, widening his eyes and looking up at the older man almost pleadingly. "Sir?" He asked, "may I please suck your cock? Never done it before, sir, but I'd like to try for you." _Bullshit. Fucking whore._ He watched as Steve's resolve crumbled all at once. Steve whined in the back of his throat and reached forward, cupping his student's jaw gently in both hands.

 

"Oh... Kitten, I..." Bucky stretched up on his toes, closing the gap between their mouths. Steve made a startled sound, then sighed into the kiss. It was soft, shy almost, at first- Bucky was still keeping up his innocent act- but as time went by, Steve took more and more control, angling Bucky's jaw to give him perfect access. Bucky's stomach fluttered at the feeling of Steve's tongue invading his body, and he moaned, the sound muffled by Steve's mouth. "Bucky- babydoll, I- I _want_ you," Steve whined as they broke apart. " _I want you so bad, Bucky._ " Bucky nipped gently at his lip one more time for good measure and breathed,

"Yeah? How do you want me, Sir?"

"On my bed," Steve commanded, his voice gravelly. Bucky pressed another kiss to his lips before backing away, leading him to the bedroom with swaying hips and sweatpants that really _wouldn't_ stay up.

 

Steve froze in the doorway and groaned at the sight of him; Bucky was lying sprawled across the bed, soaking the blankets with hair that really should've been towelled.

"Sir?" Bucky asked, his voice barely above a whimper.

"Yeah, babydoll? What do you need?"

"Please hold me, Sir. Please." Steve surged forward, kneeling between Bucky's legs and kissing him deeply. Bucky moaned into his mouth and wrapped his legs shakily around his hips.

"I've got you, Buck. 'S gonna feel so good, babydoll. You ever done this before?" Bucky shook his head. _Not willingly, at least._ “I’m gonna take care of you, Bucky. Gonna make you feel so good. You sure, though? I don’t want to do anything you don’t want.”

 

“You’d never hurt me, would you, Steve?” Bucky asked, knowing the answer but seeking reassurance. Steve kissed him gently.

“Of course not, Kitten. Do you want to wait? We can do something else, if you-”

“No, please, I want you _so_ bad, Stevie. Please? _Please_ , can I have you?” Steve shuddered as Bucky’s breath ghosted across his skin.

“How clean are you down there?” he asked. -- _Soap-slick fingers in the shower, holding back from crying Steve's name_ \--

“I just showered, what do _you_ think?” Bucky replied, kissing the corner of Steve’s mouth.

"I think I'd like to eat that pretty little ass of yours out, babydoll. Would that be alright? Or would you rather I put my fingers in you?" Bucky's breath stuttered and he choked on a moan.

 

"Please," he managed, not caring which option Steve gave him, "please, Sir."

"Of course, Buck," Steve murmured, leaning down to kiss his student gently. "Gonna take care of you, Kitten. Gonna make you feel so good. I love you, Bucky." Bucky swore he felt his heart stop for a second. 

"You-- You do? Really?" Steve nodded and kissed him again.

"So much, Buck. You're the most important person in the world to me. I would tear down everything for you." Bucky whined and flung his arms around Steve's neck, burying his face by his jaw.

"I- I--"

"It's alright, Bucky. Shhh. I wasn't expecting you to say it back just yet. You gonna be okay?" Bucky nodded slowly, laying his head back on the bed. Steve smiled down at him and trailed his fingertips over his mouth.

"You're so pretty, Buck," he whispered reverently, his eyes roaming over Bucky's features. "My pretty little boy."

 

He pressed one more kiss to Bucky's lips before trailing down his abdomen. He scattered love bites across his chest, the gentle suction making Bucky whine beneath him. He propped himself up on his elbows and started playing with Bucky's nipples, noting at what point they got to be oversensitive and pushing him _just_ past it. Bucky's fingers twined gently into his hair as he worked closer to the waistband of his sweatpants.

"Everything alright, sweetheart?" Steve asked, pressing a kiss just below his partner's navel.

"Yeah. Just a bit nervous, is all." Steve hummed, the proximity to Bucky's groin making him moan.

"It's alright, Bucky. If you need me to stop, just let me know, alright? I'll stop as soon as you say so. Even if you just need a break, that's okay too. I love you, and I want this to be good for you, ok? If it isn't, we don't have to again until you're ready. Even if that's never."

 

Bucky had died and gone to Heaven. That was the only explanation he could accept at this point. There was no other possible reason for Steve to be so gentle; For him not to treat him like the whore he was. He breathed deeply as Steve gently tugged down his sweatpants, leaving matching, tiny bruises on each hipbone.

"Steve," he sighed, "'t feels good. More, please?" Steve chuckled and leaned up to kiss him again, taking his sweet time.

"You like that, huh, Kitten? You like it when I mark you up?" Bucky nodded and tilted his chin up to kiss Steve again. Steve smiled into the kiss and cupped Bucky's jaw in both hands. The brunet sighed and let his hands wander and grasp the front of Steve's shirt just below the collar. "Oh, baby, look at you," Steve praised, taking in the look on his face. "So sweet. I love you, Kitten." Bucky beamed at the attention and gasped slightly as Steve sucked a massive, dark purple bruise to his throat. Steve kissed his way back down Bucky's body, tugging Bucky's sweatpants off and hoisting his knees over his shoulders. Bucky smiled in response to the question in Steve's eyes and the older man kissed the inside of each thigh before leaning in. Bucky's mouth opened and closed silently as Steve pressed kisses to the sensitive skin, licking gently.

 

"S-Steve!" Bucky managed to choke out, reaching for his hand. Steve smiled and threaded their fingers together, pressing a kiss to Bucky's knuckles before diving in with fervour. Bucky gripped Steve's hand tightly, his body spasming.

"Everything alright, sweetheart?" Steve asked, a little breathless, as he heard Bucky's sobs. Bucky nodded.

"I-I just-- It feels so _good_ ," he whispered. "I didn't know it could be this good." Steve looked at him quizzically.

"I thought you said--"

"Not willingly, no." At that, Steve squeezed his hand and sat up.

"Bucky- Sweetheart, I had no idea. Baby, I would have been so much gentler, I'm so sorry--" Bucky shushed him, sitting up and leaning his head against the older man's shoulder.

"Stevie, it's okay. Bad stuff happened. I'm over it now. I've got you, and you'd never hurt me, right?"

 

"Of _course_ I wouldn't, Buck. I- I'm sorry that happened, especially when I couldn't be there for you yet. I love you, sweetheart." Bucky smiled and kissed Steve's jaw.

"It's alright. But now you know why I didn't want you to call home." Steve froze up.

"Your- Your _stepfather_ did that?" He asked as he recovered, holding Bucky marginally tighter.

"Yeah. Well, I mean, not technically. Alex, he... He didn't take too kindly to me having a man's name imprinted on my skin, said that homosexuality was a sin... And rented me out to his friends as punishment. I think it was supposed to discourage me from trying to find you. But it's okay now, I got out. I've got you, Stevie. He didn't win." He offered up a little smile, which Steve obviously didn't buy.

"I'll kill him," the blond declared, holding Bucky tight against his body. Bucky shivered and pressed a little kiss to Steve's jaw. "I really will. Where does he live?"

 

"Stevie, sweetheart, calm down," Bucky soothed. "It's alright, it stopped _months_ ago now, and half the time I was so high I don't even remember it. Besides, I don't think it'd be as easy as just going to his house with a gun." Steve breathed deeply, pressing kisses to the top of Bucky's head.

"I- I'm sorry, Kitten. I just- How could somebody do that? To you? I- I just can't imagine anyone wanting anything but the best for you. I'm sorry if I got carried away." Bucky chuckled.

"I don't think you got carried away. Hell, if it was as easy as that, I'd have pulled the the trigger my _self_ ages ago. But the thing about being Alexander Pierce's stepson is that you realize just how much power the bastard has. You wouldn't even have the gun out of your pocket before somebody shot you down, Stevie, and I can't lose you like that. Not for revenge."

 

"Wait. _Alexander Pierce?_ The _mob boss?_ " Bucky nodded. Steve's arms dropped as an ice-cold feeling settled in his stomach.

"Stevie?"

"I- I dunno if I can protect you from him, babydoll, " Steve admitted, wrapping his arms back around Bucky, impossibly tighter than before.

"Stevie, it's okay. He's not gonna hurt us. He cares too much about my mother to actually send his thugs after me," Bucky explained. Steve hummed in the back of his throat.

"Bucky, I don't think you understand. He's one of Schmidt's cronies, and if I--"

"Steve. Seriously, shut up. It's fine. We're gonna be okay." Steve sighed, but kissed Bucky's temple, laying them down.

"I love you, Bucky," he murmured, laying his head on Bucky's chest and lacing his fingers with the younger man's. Bucky bit his lip before kissing the top of Steve's head in lieu of a response. "Let's get some sleep, okay, babydoll? I'm sorry I freaked out. We'll go someplace special tomorrow, alright?"

**Author's Note:**

> This is what I picture Bucky looking like:  
>   
> (too hot! Hot damn!)
> 
> Steve (with just a hint of a beard):  
>   
> (this took me so long to find btw. idk why) (Art teacher Steve is my new favourite Steve)
> 
> Steve's bike:  
>   
> (If I were to drive a motorcycle it would be a Softail Deluxe)
> 
> Bonus gif b/c I found it while looking for art teacher!Steve and related on a deep personal level:  
>   
> (Me too, Evans. Me too.)


End file.
